


there's been a piece of glass found and a terrible sound

by swimthewholeriogrande



Series: if you wanna find love then you know where the city is [1]
Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Angst, Canon Era, Canon-Typical Violence, Everything Hurts, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 19:06:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15802710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swimthewholeriogrande/pseuds/swimthewholeriogrande
Summary: Brooklyn and Manhattan are at war, and one casualty can bring a king to his knees.first work on ao3! give me lovetitle from haunt//bed by the 1975





	there's been a piece of glass found and a terrible sound

It had been hours since Spot was supposed to have met Racetrack at Sheepshead to discuss his selling there, and Spot was starting to get antsy. Tensions had been running high between him and Kelly and with the boroughs' relationship being what it was, at the moment it wasn't safe for Race to even be in Brooklyn, let alone sell there. There were hundreds of his boys out for blood and with every second that passed, Spot couldn't help but think about all the things that could have stopped Race from showing up.

He shouldn't have cared about a Manhattan newsie getting soaked. Hell, with what an asshole Kelly was being about territory around the bridge, he should have been delighted to see some loudmouth trespassing know-it-all knocked down a peg on his grounds. Besides, having a soft spot - he hated himself for even thinking those words - for a boy, God forbid a rivaling newsie, would get him kicked off his throne so fast it'd make his head spin. Spot knew all that, but it was hard to put into practise when said know-it-all was his best friend, his - 

Spot scowled, stubbing out his cigarette on the wall and flicking it into the dirty snow melting on the street. It didn't matter what Racetrack meant to him anyhow; he wasn't there. Kelly must've warned him off. Manhattan's business was Manhattan's business and Spot had plenty to deal with in his own borough. He was just starting to convince himself of that on the way back to the lodging house - half his young boys had pneumonia and it wasn't like anyone else was going to deal with it - when he heard a rattling scream.

He started towards it, because what kind of leader would he be if he didn't protect his dumbass fight-picking boys, but then found they didn't need any protection - three of his newsies stood over a shivering mass in the sludge, one of their knees planted in the unfortunate creature's back. It was spitting out slurred curses at a rapid-fire rate and as he came towards them the tallest boy, Fidget, kicked at it. The curses ground to a halt with a sharp yelp.

"Hey, hey!" Spot barked, speeding up but still trying to seem nonchalant like dread wasn't starting to coil in his stomach. "What do you think you're doin'?"

"We found a 'Hattan boy tryna sell on our turf," Fidget said testily. "We's soakin' him, like we's supposed to."

Spot felt his pulse stutter to a halt in his wrist. The bundle on the ground turned its head slowly, gravel scraping painfully over a bleeding jaw, and Spot saw blue eyes, clear skin covered in bruises and grime.

"Jesus," he said, unable to stop himself, and Race kept their eyes locked, pleading for the first time Spot had ever seen. Tell them you said I could, he seemed to be asking, or maybe don't, walk away, don't risk everything by admitting what we are. Spot wasn't sure, and then a smaller boy, Scratch, kicked Race square in the face and broke his nose and Spot guessed he'd never know. The knee in his back looked like it could break bone. Spot could barely breathe, his fingers making small aborted movements as his body tried to rush to Race's aid.

"We gotta, Spot." Fidget spoke over Racetrack's pained moan, sounding unsure. He motioned for the third boy, Spanner, to stand up off of Race as if for backup. "I ain't taking in any strays."

Freed from the weight on him, Race trembled and jerked and snarled up at them all. It looked like he was trying to get a fistful of the ground to support himself, but the fingers on his right hand were crooked and broken and Spot was going to throw up right then and there if he had to watch anymore of this.

He heard his voice come from somewhere cold inside him, cruel and powerful. "I'll deal with it. Go back to lodging, I'll follow." Spanner opened his mouth like he was about to talk and Spot snapped, "I said GO."

Fidget, Spanner and Scratch exchanged glances, but Spot knew they wouldn't go against him. Fidget gave Race one last kick - it sent him twisting, gasping for air, eyes rolling in pain - and then they slunk off, and Spot was quite alone. It was almost worse with no one else to drown Race out.

Spot fell to his knees with a crack, unsure of where to start but knowing that oh God, that was a lot of blood and Race barely had his eyes open and - he touched the other boy's neck only for Race to flinch and strike out. Spot swatted him away frighteningly easily and rolled Race onto his back in one fluid movement, biting back an apology. He had to disassociate from the sight of the most important person, the only important person in pain if he was going to be any help at all. 

And Jesus, there was a lot of pain, because Race looked like he'd been run over by a horse and cart a few hundred times. The slivers of his eyes widened at the sight of Spot's face, sleet doing nothing to wash the clotted blood away from his nose, and he whined out, "I'm sorry, alright? Leave me alone. I'm sorry."

"I ain't gonna hurt you." was all Spot could say in response. Race was so out of it that he didn't seem to have any idea who Spot was, still shifting like he wanted to crawl away. "I've got you, Tony, it's me. No one's gonna hurt you."

It was still early enough that passer-byers could be seen at the entrance of the alley that now smelled like sweat and blood. Spot whistled sharply at one and ordered them to call round for a doctor. It didn't matter that Spot would be paying for it for weeks; Race looked like he could die and that couldn't happen or Spot might just have to follow him.

Spot touched the angry red footprint on Race's collarbone, the dislocated swell of his right shoulder, and pulled Race's head onto his lap. He pressed a kiss to the other boy's temple and felt tears well, hot and bitter and full of shame.

"I'm sorry," he echoed the other boy's feverish mumble, "I'm sorry, Tony, I'm sorry."

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first time writing newsies so I'd love some feedback! i was thinking of doing a second part with more h/c so if there's any interest let me know, thank you!


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